


Over ghosts that broke my heart before I met you

by Wintertree



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Beginnings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Forced Marriage, Past Alistair/Female Cousland - Freeform, Past Character Death, Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 06:29:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8239352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wintertree/pseuds/Wintertree
Summary: “I’m awaiting a call from Bann Eremon, please alert me as soon as she arrives and send a runner to her estate.” The color drained from the girl’s face. “What’s the problem?”“I’m sorry, Your Majesty. Bann Eremon arrived, Your Majesty, a little over a half hour ago. King Alistair said he’d take her to you,” she rushed out. The girl took a gulp of air. “Your Majesty.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gamerfic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gamerfic/gifts).



> big love to sarah & amy, even though they were still fast asleep when I furiously pounded this out, exchange deadline breathing down my neck. ur continued existence in this earthly plane is comfort enough. un-beta'd so read are your own risk~
> 
> edit: also just realized I typed "un-beta'd so read **are** your own risk," which is too ironic for me to even get mad at my own typos. I went through and cleaned the fic itself up some.
> 
> title & song quote taken from "Ghosts" by Laura Marling, which is truly a song for a mourning alistair

_He would stare at empty chairs_  
_Think of the ghosts that once sat there_  
_The ghosts that broke his heart._  
_oh the ghosts that broke my heart_

 

* * *

 

Anora rubbed her temples and shuffled the grain reports. It was progressing slowly, but surely. However, there was still the odd darkspawn or bandit, and the farmers all wanted extra royal guards or weapons for safety.

She sucked air through her teeth. If she did delivered soldiers, coffers would continue to empty and grain prices would remain steep. If she distributed weaponry, there was a higher likelihood of a militia forming up or revolting. If she did _nothing_ , it would be proof she was unable to rule and wasn’t a queen for the people.

The second afternoon bell echoed from the courtyard, breaking her concentration.

“Erlina?” Anora called out.

One of her handmaidens, a wisp of a girl, timidly stepped into her suite. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty, I am waiting on you this afternoon. Can I help you with anything, Your Majesty?”

“I’m awaiting a call from Bann Eremon, please alert me as soon as she arrives and send a runner to her estate.” The color drained from the girl’s face. “What’s the problem?”

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty. Bann Eremon arrived, Your Majesty, a little over a half hour ago. King Alistair said he’d take her to you,” she rushed out. The girl took a gulp of air. “Your Majesty.”

Anora cursed and stood forcefully. She brushed past the girl, who clopped along after her. How someone so small and meek could make such a racket, Anora had no idea. She made her way to Alistair’s wing, scaring half a dozen guards. That wouldn’t do. She composed herself, a benevolent (if blank) smile on her face, and opened the doors.

“—and that’s when I finally admitted to myself, you know, it wasn’t even stew we were eating,” Alistair said. Bann Eremon sat next him, chuckling at the tail end of his joke.

Anora strode into the room, head held high. “My dear Alfstanna, thank you for calling.”

Bann Eremon rose from her chair and bowed deeply. “Thank you for having me, Your Majesty. My King had been quite entertaining, and I already briefed him on the recurring refugee situation.”

“Is that so?” Anora smiled at Alistair. As he caught sight of her face, the humor in his dropped completely, replaced with a grimace. A brittle flash of irritation coursed through her. “Please, let us discuss it in detail. You said in your letter…”

 

The conversation went well, if redundant. Despite the fact that Alistair had intercepted the Bann, he was silent for most of the meeting, popping in once or twice with strategies to improve the guard. Finally, it came to an end and Anora wished Eremon well.

As soon as she left, Anora stood and turned to Alistair. “Don’t you ever do that do me again.”

“Excuse me?”

“You told _my_ servant that you would speak with _my_ guest on _my_ behalf?” She pettily tried to tower over him, but Alistair jumped out of his seat with an indignant cry.

“Oh, I’m so ever sorry,” he sniped. “I should have realized I wasn’t allowed to speak to anyone inside my own home.” He walked away from her, grumbling something darkly under his breath.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Nothing,” Alistair said.

“No, you said something, so say it again.”

“I shouldn’t even be here.”

“I’ve officially had it, Alistair.” Anora could feel the frustration bubbling up inside her, a physical ball of pressure sitting behind her ribs. For the past several months he’d been doing this, grumbling and whining and feeling sorry for himself. Cailan's death had upset her, but she had to be strong for her people. She had indulged him his grief after his lover died, but this bitterness and resentment was unending. “Riordan told me the cost of killing an archdemon, Alistair, did you really expect your mistress to let her King die?” He looked at her in shock. “Are you still that ignorant? You’re not some faceless romantic Grey Warden _hero_ you’re a _king_ , and Elissa knew—“

“Don’t you dare say her name!” Alistair roared.

She threw up her hands. “Is that it? Is that why you hate me? You could have died some silly noble death if you hadn’t been forced to marry the bitch queen?”

Alistair gaped at her. “What? No, Anora—“

“Enough.” Anora took deep breaths, steadying herself. A grandfather clock ticked down the hallway. She looked up at him, her faithful benevolent smile firmly locked in place. “You don’t have to be my husband, Alistair. But as my king, you swore you wouldn’t interfere with my rule or my duty.”

She left him and retired to her room. She gently closed the door on his silent form, half wishing she could say she wasn’t childish enough to feel a thrill of satisfaction.

Anora settled once again in her suite, rifling and putting the papers in order. Oddly enough, the words blurred together. She touched her check, embarrassed and surprised to feel tears. She didn’t even feel upset, but there they were. A quick glance in the mirror confirmed they were visible, too.

She heard furious whispering behind her door.

"Just come in, please," she called.

Alistair peeked his head in. “Hi, Anora. Er, oh. Um.” Alistair’s balked as he took in her blotchy complexion. He awkwardly closed the door behind him and adverted his gaze, fiddling with a wall ornament. She couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

“Is there something you need, my King?” she coolly said.

Alistair winced. “Well,” he took a breath and flashed her a watery smile, “she didn’t need to die, but she did, and that’s my fault.”

Cousland? This again? “Alistair, she had a duty—”

“No, you’re wrong,” he interrupted. “Morrigan. The witch. She found a way around the price.”

Anora blinked, but stayed silent.

“All I had to do was bed her. And maybe create an evil old-god baby, or whatever.” Alistair finally left the poor ornament alone. “But I couldn’t, and Cousland didn’t push it. We had already gotten married, and I felt…” he petered off and fell onto her loveseat. “If I had gone through with it, she’d probably be alive. And I’m sorry, for what it’s worth. That thing just now with Eremon. I just wanted to see a friendly face, not sabotage your rule.”

She leaned her head back and looked at the ceiling. “Am I not a friendly face?”

Alistair snorted. “Your ‘friendly’ face is terrifying. I only see you smile when you’re plotting someone’s execution.”

Despite herself, she laughed. Alistair startled, but grinned weakly and chuckled along as well.

“Am I really that transparent?” she asked.

He tapped the side of his nose. “A husband knows these things.” He sobered. “May I ask, about…?”

“Cailan?” He shrugged awkwardly. It was almost comical, his large frame overwhelming her delicate loveseat. “He was kind to me, but strong headed.”

“I’m told I’ve got a thick skull, if that helps.” She snorted. Cailan would have winced at how unladylike that was, but quite frankly she didn’t care anymore what her husbands would think.

Alistair just answered with a snort of his own, and then sighed. “You’re a good queen, and my presence is only good enough to help solidify your claim to the throne. I don’t resent marrying you, if that also helps. I resent that that I couldn’t make the decision to marry you on my own.” He focused his big, sad eyes on her. “Why didn’t she push it?”

Anora looked at his open, soft face. It was surprising, how she sometimes she forgot how young he was. Sometimes she forgot how young she was. She stood and stretched.

“Get up.”

“Er, right,” Alistair said, awkwardly standing and shuffling to the door.

“No.” He paused. “Take off your boots.”

He complied, confused. “Are you going to kill me and want to keep my blood from staining my clothes? A very scary and very short man has assured me that my wardrobe costs more money that I’ve ever touched, so I commend you on your practicality.”

She rolled her eyes again, but refused to let him see a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “I may not have her compassionate heart, but I’m not completely heartless.” She thought of her father, off pushing the darkspawn back into the Deep Roads.

Anora slipped off her own slippers and led him to her bed, arranging them with her on her back and Alistair curled on top of her chest. She didn’t know how long they stayed like that, just that the part of her dress under his face grew damp and eventually Alistair stopped shaking.

He cleared his throat. “Did you love him?”

She looked down, but she could only see his soft, ruddy brown hair. “There was affection.”

“Ah,” Alistair hummed, wrapping his arm around her waist and rubbing his thumb in calm circles above her hipbone. “I can do affection.”

She raised her hand and ran her fingers through his hair, skritching ever so lightly. It was infuriatingly soft. “I suppose so can I.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you like it, **gamerfic**! I noticed over the past couple days how great and supportive you've been, leaving both comments and kudos. I've never written (or even thought at length) about this pairing, so I hope you like it! I'm an absolute sucker for this type of dynamic, so I have no idea why I didn't see it first.
> 
> ANYWAYS! I hope you enjoy and feel nice & smug about being a good person ;^)


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